


some layers

by rackam, Void_and_Fire



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Comfort Sex, Established Relationship, Halloween, M/M, aoidos has an extensive wardrobe, edited 12/01, things get soft and sappy near the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-07 17:01:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21461467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rackam/pseuds/rackam, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Void_and_Fire/pseuds/Void_and_Fire
Summary: Aoidos schedules a late appointment with his nurse.
Relationships: Aoidos/Rackam (Granblue Fantasy)
Kudos: 12





	some layers

**Author's Note:**

> collab with kuro :,,)
> 
> this was for halloween but i'm 17 days into no nut november
> 
> aoidos smothers rackam in love bc it's what he deserves
> 
> [edit 12/01] alright y’all this goes from hard to soft real fast

Rackam guessed the idea was a joke.

His arms spread themselves against a wooden ledge. His surrounding bedroom walls glow bright, orange and jestful. But white, neon frills lay humourless on Aoidos’ arm.

Footsteps and laughter muffle outside closed doors—people run happily under a platinum sky. A festive Grandcypher boards fake skeletons and webs Rackam will have to clean up later, but more importantly lies the costume in front of him, seemingly floating in mid-air.

Rackam knew Aoidos had something festive in mind this year, but he never imagined _ this. _

It begins only a few hours prior; Rackam tends his daily shift of Minding His Own Business on the Grandcypher until Aoidos clocks him early with a protruding question.

Rackam’s neck nearly snaps in half that morning, “Watch your hands.”

Aoidos hums, unpleased when Rackam’s armor restrict access to his neck. His hands slither down sleek iron and they imagine a warm chest underneath. “What do you plan to wear?”

Rackam’s eyes don’t leave his notes, but he raises an eyebrow. Aoidos’ sigh finds the crook of Rackam’s neck, and a red strand of hair snakily lands on his steering wheel. Aoidos pulls it over his shoulder almost instantly.

“I asked if you’ve already chosen a costume for Halloween,” Aoidos murmurs.

Rackam analyzes his words. His eyes briefly leave his notes until he grows tired of Aoidos’ following smirk, and instead he grabs his compass.

Rackam’s hand draws coordinates with a pencil. “Not feeling it this year. Everyone’s out for trick or treating, and I’m taking a long nap.”

He sighs at the very thought. Not that he minds company and daily idle chatter, but Absolute silence fills the Grandcypher once every blue moon, and hell is Rackam ready to reap tonight’s rewards.

His dreams snap away by a noisy little sigh above.

“That’s no fun.” Aoidos’ fingers tease the edge of Rackam’s breastplate, whose brows begin to furrow. Aoidos knows full well of Rackam’s hefty schedule, and while his sleeping face is incomparably adorable, his daily shade of brown is simply _ boring_.

“You’d do well in something different for once,” Aoidos concludes.

Rackam’s glare finally lands on Aoidos when he decides to ask, “Don’t you have a solo act due tonight?” 

The urge to shed Rackam’s many layers of clothing burns the base of Aoidos’ index finger. The same finger tiptoes on armored creases before hitting the bottom of Rackam’s chin.

“Not this time,” Aoidos starts, swallowing his urge, “Tonight roars with a glowing festivity, who am I not to take and relish it?”

A guilty pleasure runs in the back of Aoidos’ mind, and he knows it definitely breaches new territory for the both of them, but it never hurts to ask.

His fingers tickle Rackam’s stubble when their eyes meet. The helmsman’s notes awkwardly lie in one hand and his embarrassment rests in the other. Aoidos adores the red flush that silently colors Rackam’s skin, and his lips gently press above Rackam’s nose.

The words are short, but pick up barely when Aoidos murmurs, “Care to be a nurse?”

Aoidos catches the following sputter while holding a beet-faced Rackam, and the sight only makes him that much more adorable.

“I’m joking, of course,” Aoidos says partially, “You’ll be in that same old room? Think it needs a little charm.” 

Aoidos’ words stop there, and linger on how exactly he can spruce things up.

“Do I want to know...?” Rackam’s breath wavers and he answers Aoidos’ question almost out of principle with a nod.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you at midnight,” The red-haired man hops off the helm with a content grin on his face. 

-

Aoidos mirrors the same grin when he locks the door with one hand, a peachy lace garment in the other. 

Fireworks paint the corners of Rackam’s windows, but Aoidos’ eyes gleam brighter while standing in the middle of his room.

The Grandcypher adorns itself in the middle of a festive island. A yellow sash of pumpkins, green tombstones, and unapproved use of magic beam across the deck thanks to Sierokarte. Pumpkins, fake spider webs, and candles were lit everywhere by dawn. Everything was prepared to the last detail thanks to Gran’s crew.

Rackam had originally planned to reap tonight’s rewards, except he hasn’t slept since this morning.

He imagines Gran already slipped into a warlock costume, Lyria and Vyrn happily running by his side in a merry town, and sighs at his current fate. 

A personally sized nurse’s outfit dangles across from him. Ivory strings decorate Aoidos’ fingers like an invitation.

“Uh huh,” Rackam’s argument falls on deaf ears. He inhales until his lungs cannot hold anymore sarcasm. “Not wearing that.”

Aoidos whines.

“Come _ on,_” Aoidos’ sighs hang pitifully in the air, and he knows Rackam isn’t buying it. “Don’t be a grumpy old man. You’re one of the shamefully few who haven’t dressed yet.”

What hurts more, and what makes the strain in Aoidos’ pants hurt more, is how Rackam can _ beautifully _ pull off anything, but chooses not to.

Rackam clicks the side of his tongue. 

“First off, I’m 29,” He says pointedly, and jabs a glare straight to Aoidos’ retina. “Secondly, I didn’t think you were actually serious.”

He bites down how he wants to try the outfit, because the thought of him feeling cute was seemingly far-fetched. He tries to surpress Aoidos’ flattery even now, because he’s nothing special. 

To drive his point, however, Aoidos’ throat grabs the sultriest groan he can muster, and the title rolls off his tongue so easily. “_Sir_, I think I need a checkup. Please.”

The following sigh permeates the room when Rackam’s fingers immediately hover his armor and signal Aoidos. “Come here.”

-

The fit is just a size short of Rackam’s frame.

Several sizes short. The fabric strains just a little when his weight sinks into the bed.

Rackam’s legs spread and the bed sinks further when warm arms envelop his figure. Aoidos' lips are just as warm, soft, and inviting when they part from his own.

"How does it feel?" The words are reassuringly soft on Aoidos' lips, who is nothing but smitten at the sight before him.

Rackam scans his own figure, and he feels happier under Aoidos' smile. "Why this outfit?"

Aoidos hums when his palms slip under the bottom of Rackam's skirt and tug his underwear. "You'll see."

Rackam opens his mouth to protest, especially if all Aoidos intends to do is rip his uniform, but falls silent when his skirt lifts and fingers press on warm skin.

A light gasp leaves his mouth when two fingers spread him in a scissoring motion, the intrusion no longer foreign until he meets a third one.

His eyes lull at the pattern thoroughly massaging his walls, the fingers inside him are pliant and gentle, and extend as if searching earnestly...

Rackam’s eyes widen when those same fingers press a hardened spot and he nearly slips off the bed. Aoidos holds him down with one leg.

“Found it,” Aoidos sits up, removes his fingers and line themselves together. Rackam whines at the sudden loss until Aoidos brushes him, hard and ready to fill that same emptiness with a part much thicker.

“Seems I’m your first client, sir. You’re doing well so far,” Aoidos has an idea, but he wants to be sure. “Is this ok?”

Rackam is ready to call the irony in Aoidos’ words, but his length strains under red fabric until all he can do is nod.

So he does, avidly, and Aoidos shifts in bed.

Both of them sigh as the tip of Aoidos plunges in almost too easily, _ too _ smoothly. Rackam practically hears the thick coat of lube push inside him, but he envelops Aoidos, thick and hard against him, seemingly endless until he’s snug in heat. 

Aoidos groans at the view of his cock disappearing inside Rackam, curls his back when he reappears in slow, gentle movements, until the helmsman under him is rocking slowly in his grip. 

A stethoscope dangles on Rackam’s dress and Aoidos’ hand slips to check what’s underneath, marvels soft, peachy skin until a hand roughly brushes his arm. Rackam’s fingers work himself below in gentle strokes, wrist hurried and a little desperate, and pressure lights an already boiling strain in his groin. 

Aoidos grabs his wrist and pulls it over his head.

“Not this time,” Aoidos bends over, and his tip deliciously glides inside Rackam, his arousal low in Rackam’s ear, “Try not to move.”

When he feels Rackam’s arms are still, Aoidos sheathes himself until the base of him is throbbing wet with warmth, and the headboard whacks for the first time this night.

Rackam’s skirt begins to flutter, and light gleams from their window behind. It casts how much both of them _ want _ this, to consume themselves in the other’s scent, in each other’s breathing space, how much their sweat permeates from hot, slapping skin.

Rackam’s cheeks are glowing, eyes shut and his brows are pleading not to stop, completely immersed in the repeating motion in his ass, and the cracks in his voice signal him dangerously close to coming.

His breath stops, tries to pick back up but every thrust steals the air out of his lungs, leaves his mouth agape and unaware of the blissfully sweet noises that drip and muffle into his arms. Aoidos shoves it away, closes their distance and drinks them in long sips, savors Rackam’s taste on his tongue.

_ “Fuck...” _ Aoidos mutters when the need for air breaks their kiss, and his mouth settles with another curse when his hips stumble to keep his rhythm. “You’re so good, Rackam _ , _ you’re taking me so well...”

Rackam’s hips buck under the praise and the last bit of precome leaks into a clear white, spills all over his abdomen with an electrifying stir in his gut. Rackam tries and shakes his head nonetheless, but the hand circling the base of his cock wasn’t having it.

“Yes, you _ are,” _ Aoidos’ other hand pulls Rackam to his view, and he doesn’t speak until their eyes meet, “You don’t get to choose what I see in you, dear.”

Another whine rumbles in Rackam’s throat, either from the grip on his release or the fact Aoidos is right—Rackam can’t sway what Aoidos thinks of him, of how bells ring at the sound of his laughter, or the uneven shave on the left side of his jaw, or the way his eyes glint at a loose particle he’d been searching for over the past week.

Rackam can’t sway _ any _ of those things and more, because it’s truly what Aoidos sees in him, _ loves _ about him so thoroughly.

Why Aoidos is making love to him in a nurse’s outfit, only to strip him to a mumbling, incoherent, beautiful mess...

Tears begin to well at the thought of being _enough_, more than enough for Aoidos, that the things he can control about himself are just as beautiful as the things he can’t. Rackam sputters in gentle sobs—of Aoidos’ quickening pace or the very bare realization he just made—and he’s unsure which tiltatles him harder, “A, aa, _Aoidos_, I’m—“

“Do it. Let me hear you,” Aoidos’ grip lightens just briefly, and his hand finally decides to _ pull_.

Rackam’s hands glow knuckle-white, and his head throws back as the last of his release milks on Aoidos’ palm. Aoidos chases his own release at the sight, the strain in his gut too hard to bear until his breath stammers with a low yelp. 

Their breaths fizzle until Aoidos loses his ground, his weight collapses until he’s buried in the other’s neck. The lights are dim, but there’s no trouble reading content on Rackam’s face, whose breaths are thick and blissfully drawn out.

Rackam doesn’t remember what words muffle into his chest, but Aoidos’ brows are sincere when they do. “..ove you, so much.”

Rackam’s eyelids fall and he sinks a little further in their mattress. But he doesn’t run away from the words above. Surely doesn’t melt when a _thank you, you are wonderful_ vrums in the back of his ear, like it’s custom.

His self conciousness wallows on what if the warmth in his stomach is just a fleeting, brief touch. Of how they surely won’t last, because one of them doesn’t carry enough, _isn’t_ enough to match the other.

The sincerity of Aoidos’ words are heavier than anything else in the bed, and the added weight reminds Rackam of their relationship—vivid and vibrant and _real._ It’s because of small things like this, or the way Aoidos mumbles into his shirt, trusting of their surrounding space _including_ Rackam. Or the way lips kiss lovingly on even the softest bits of his stubble, and press a little harder when touching his own.

All of these and more soothe the nerve-wracking doubt that sometimes builds inside Rackam. But the false, laughable idea of not being enough sometimes corners Rackam until he couldn’t be any further from reality.

And time and time again Aoidos gladly reminds him—that what they have together is more than enough.

**Author's Note:**

> huge thanks to kuro for collabing and reminding me to post this
> 
> this probably made better sense in my head but anyway i love two men


End file.
